


here's a hand to lay on your open palm

by thatsparrow



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Spoilers: Episode 3, UnDeadwood Mini-series (Critical Role)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 14:31:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21357778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsparrow/pseuds/thatsparrow
Summary: It's quiet after the sound of the final gunshot fades, the whole town holding its breath to see if Wild Bill will rise for a third time. When Miriam glances over, she sees that Arabella's dropped her gun, eyes as wide as the bullet hole she'd opened up in her sister's temple.[spoilers: episode 3]
Relationships: Miriam Landisman/Arabella Whitlock
Comments: 8
Kudos: 66





	here's a hand to lay on your open palm

**Author's Note:**

> title from "of angels and angles" by the decemberists

It's quiet after the sound of the final gunshot fades, the whole town holding its breath to see if Wild Bill will rise for a third time. But the hooples aren't exactly known for their patience—not like it took them much time at all to start hammering stakes into the gold-heavy dirt and claiming an acre of it as their own—and so it doesn't take long for the silence to snap like a too-tight rubber band. When Miriam glances over, she sees that Arabella's dropped her gun, eyes as wide as the bullet hole she'd opened up in her sister's temple. Her hands are shaking some, too, reminding Miriam of the dry-bone rattle of a desert snake; she needs somewhere quiet to sit and breathe and drink and she certainly won't find it out here.

"Come on, dear." Miriam settles a hand on Arabella's shoulder and starts steering her back towards the Bullock. "I could use a little peace myself, and I'm willing to hazard a guess that you could, too." Arabella nods, jaw set tight like it's been rusted shut; Miriam would offer her something to drink if her flasks hadn't run dry.

"Breathe, now," she says as she guides the ghost-pale Arabella inside. "Just breathe." The Bullock is mostly empty, which is something of a blessing. Miriam hadn't realized how her own hands were trembling until she needs to steady them to manage the room key.

"I—I just—" Arabella's voice is barely a whisper. "_Cynthia. _I can't believe that I—"

"You did something very difficult and very brave and a great many people are a good deal safer because of it." The lock clicks and Miriam shoulders the door inward—to hell with appearances—swinging it wide enough to walk Arabella inside. She lets herself be led to the bed and lets Miriam seat her at the foot of it; her back is still ramrod straight, her eyes unseeing. The poor girl looks half dead herself.

"I came here for her." Arabella swallows. "And now she's dead and it's all because of me."

"Hush, now." Miriam pours two fingers of whiskey into a glass, then reconsiders and doubles it, spilling some onto the dresser in her haste. "I won't hold for that kind of foolishness, understand? Your sister died of the plague, and while that was undoubtedly a tragedy, it wasn't anything to do with you." Arabella takes the glass when Miriam hands it to her, but she makes no move to drink. Miriam doubts that Arabella even knows what she's holding.

"Do...do you think I made a mistake?" She looks at Miriam for the first time since just after firing the gun, her face a sort of frightened that Miriam hadn't seen on her even when they were confronted with the bodies of the miners or dodging bullets from the horse thieves. Miriam sits next to her on the coverlet, takes the whiskey glass from Arabella's hands so she can hold them tight in her own.

"No, darling. I don't."

"But I—" her voice catches. "What if I could've saved her? What if there's a cure?"

"Ain't no cure for dying."

Arabella's eyes drop to the bedspread; Miriam tightens her grip, holding fast to her like an anchor.

"I want you to listen close: the woman we saw today was not your sister. I'm sure if the Reverend were here to relay the word of God, he'd tell you that God says the same." Arabella's hands feel too cold against her own, and Miriam wills some of her own warmth into them. "It might've looked just like her, but that was an empty shell, a puppet being steered towards some vile end, and the world is better for its absence." Even with her head lowered, Miriam can see Arabella's eyes squeeze shut, her lashes turned damp from the tears beading against them. _ Come to find that magic's real and I still don't know how to help you shoulder the pain of this_. "Please don't punish yourself. Wherever your sister is now—the heart of her, not the body she left behind—I guarantee you, Arabella, it's not still living in Deadwood. Hell, I'd gamble never taking another sip of whiskey again on the belief that she's waiting for you wherever souls go, watching her sister save lives and feeling so damn proud."

Arabella looks up at her, makes an effort at a smile. "Now that is saying something, knowing how you love your drink."

"Damn right," Miriam says, smiling back at her. "Should tell you just how confident I am." She pulls Arabella into a quick hug and presses a kiss to her forehead. "I cannot imagine the pain of having to mourn her passing twice, but so long as you don't get weighed down blaming yourself, you will get through this. You're too strong to do anything else."

"When you say it like that, I could almost believe it."

"Then I'll have to keep saying it until you do." 

Miriam brushes a loose strand of hair behind Arabella's ear, then retrieves the glass of whiskey and takes a pull of it herself before handing it back. "While we have the time to collect ourselves, why don't you sip on that to steady your nerves. I get the sense that what's just happened with Wild Bill is a sign that this…well, whatever it may be that's pulling the strings, it'll be making its move on the town soon. Might be some time before there's another chance to breathe easy, and Lord knows we need you even-keeled when things next take a turn."

Arabella nods and takes a drink, her mouth twisting a little at the taste of the whiskey. Then she pauses, glass halfway raised, and looks up at Miriam, some thought waiting on her tongue that she hasn't quite figured how to express.

"Yes, darling?"

"Do you—" Arabella takes a breath, her free hand restless in her lap. "That is—well, I know I have a husband and a home that I'm meant to be returning to, but would it bother you if—"

Miriam smiles at her. "You're welcome to stay here as long as you like, dear. All night, if you need to."

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want to impose."

"There you go being foolish again. As if your presence could ever be an imposition."

Arabella nods at her, looking relieved if still a little nervous. Miriam reaches over to the hand not holding the glass and takes it in her own. "Whatever you need, Arabella, I'm here for you. Trust that whatever else may happen, that won't change."


End file.
